


Only 90's Kids Will Remember

by Lownly



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Nostalgia, Phone Sex, horny little teenagers, or rather, walkie talkie sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1350493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lownly/pseuds/Lownly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tags kind of say it all...<br/>Jean and Marco get it on. Over a pair of Fisher Price walkie talkies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only 90's Kids Will Remember

“Sasha, cut that out!”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll rip that dumb scrunchie right out of your hair!”

At that, Sasha slapped her slap-bracelet across Jean’s face again, letting it curl against his cheek before straightening it out again and poising for a second attack, earning another howl of laughter from Eren. Jean lunged at her, thin hands scrabbling at her hair, before Marco came up behind his friend and pried him off, arms slipping under Jean’s and over his shoulders as he pulled him away.

“Thanks, Marco!” Sasha beamed, hands flying up to adjust her side-ponytail and tighten her scrunchie.

“Yeah, thanks, Marco,” Jean glowered, shaking him off.

It was another Tuesday evening in October, the cool wind of autumn scattering the fallen leaves in Eren’s yard. He and Mikasa had invited Connie, Sasha and Marco (and by default, Jean) over to hang out at their place after school. Armin was always there anyway, invitation be damned.

Under normal circumstances, Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt would have been invited as well, but the Super Nintendo only had two controllers, and there were enough people to cycle turns through as was. And also the fact that Annie’s Furby creeped everyone out; she cared dearly for the strange, beaked pseudo-creature, and carried it with her wherever she went, and had even gone as far as to give it a name: Leroy.

She would even put Reiner or Bertholdt on babysitting duty for it at times, and although Reiner clearly didn’t mind keeping Leroy in his bag or balancing it on his muscular shoulders, Bertholdt was another story entirely—the mechanical devil’s vessel always made him break out into a sweat, moreso than usual, and Marco had seen him on multiple occasions avoiding eye contact with Leroy while on “duty” and breaking out into tremors in the process.

Jean constantly expressed his unease at the fact that a girl as stoic and seemingly unloving as Annie was so enamored with something like a _Furby,_ but then again, it was just as creepy as she was, so he supposed it wasn’t all that surprising. Either way, most people had taken to avoiding the strange trio in an effort to avoid _Leroy_ , so they were currently absent from the kids’ little after-school gathering.

“It’s starting to get late, you guys,” Connie commented, glaring in the direction of the setting sun. “I’ve got to get home for dinner…”

“Me too!” Sasha said, skipping over to Connie’s side and taking his hand.

“You’re eating with his family again?” Eren asked, squinting between the two, and Sasha nodded in confirmation.

“His mom invited me over again!” she beamed, leaning over a bit to plant a quick kiss on a blushing Connie’s cheek. Jean made a noise of disgust, to which she responded by slapping him again with her bracelet.

Marco looked over at Armin, Mikasa and Eren, all three of them lounging about on the porch steps before glaring up at the pink-tinged clouds. “We’ve got to get going too, Jean,” he mumbled, bumping his shoulder against his friend’s.  

“Alright, if you guys are all leaving, then we’re gonna head back inside,” Mikasa said, getting to her feet and climbing back up the porch stairs. Armin and Eren followed suit, dusting off their pants of porch gravel.

“Armin’s staying at your place tonight?” Jean asked.

“Yeah,” Eren said, prying open the creaky screen door, “What’s it to you?”

“N-nothing, just wondering,” he said, and Marco side-eyed him to find that the corners of his mouth were twitching up in an ill-concealed grin. Marco held back a grin of his own; Armin staying at Eren’s and Mikasa’s meant that he wouldn’t be walking home with them, since he lived across the street from them both.

“Yeah, whatever, have a safe walk home, guys,” Eren said before shutting the door behind him.

Connie and Sasha took one long look at each other before dropping their hands, walking calmly to the sidewalk, and poising at the imaginary starting line.

“Call it out, Marco!” Connie said, swinging his hands at his sides.

“Alright, here we go,” he began, “When I say ‘go’. Get ready… get set-“

“GO!” Jean shouted, and the two took off, Connie nearly tripping over his own two feet in surprise at Jean’s sudden addition. Marco smacked Jean playfully on the shoulder. “Don’t be such a jerk,” he told him, watching Connie and Sasha disappear around the corner of the block, Sasha’s light-up shoes casting neon lights across the sidewalk with each pound of her foot.

The two took one long look at each other, glanced behind them at Eren’s house, and then at the corner Sasha and Connie had just disappeared around. No one was watching….

Jean hastily grabbed Marco’s hand, intertwining their fingers and swinging their arms between them, throwing his secret boyfriend a cocky grin. “You ready to go?” he said, giving Marco’s hand a squeeze. Marco smiled, ducking down to plant a quick kiss against Jean’s thin lips.

“Mm-hmm, I’m ready.”

Jean tried to chase after his retreating lips, eyes slipping closed, but Marco stopped him with his hand.

“Not right here,” he murmured, glancing over at the Jaeger household behind them; they were still standing in the front yard, after all. Jean gave a small, whining noise of impatience at that, but still nodded in understanding before stepping off the lawn and towards the sidewalk.

“Come on then, let’s hurry,” he said, dragging Marco along. “I want to have plenty of time to make out with you before we have to go home.”

Marco rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything; he wanted to do the same, after all.

The two set off down the uneven cracked sidewalk, the sky a faded pastel purple that was decorated with cotton candy clouds, burnt orange lining the trees and tops of houses from where the sun was melting into the horizon. The wind grew chilly, and they pulled their windbreaker jackets tighter around themselves, but their hands remained interlocked with one another’s; because although the wind bit at their knuckles and skated along the exposed backs of their hands, their palms were warm against each other, and it was worth it.

The walk was never long—in fact, according to Marco’s cereal box watch he’d gotten last month and hadn’t stopped wearing since, the walk was seven minutes exactly. And so seven minutes later found Marco and Jean walking along their street towards their houses.

Marco was forever glad that he had the privilege of being his boyfriend’s next-door-neighbor.

“C’mere,” Marco whispered, dragging his boyfriend across the lawn over to the side of his house, and the two of them threw off their backpacks as they went. Jean pulled Marco in, trying to initiate a kiss, but Marco whirled him about so that he was pinned against the side of Marco’s house, and Marco dove in immediately.

Their lips crashed together, almost violently at first, but aggression soon gave way to gentle desperation, quiet moans and needy whines leaving their slow-moving lips. Jean’s hands fisted themselves into the collar of Marco’s jacket, pulling and tugging him closer, eventually sliding up to cradle his jaw, while a hand of Marco’s went to Jean’s hair, fingers carding gently through the soft strands while his other hand slid around Jean’s hip to hold him in place.

Having a secret relationship was tough; they couldn’t share quick kisses in the hallways during passing periods, or hold hands while walking to school, or give each other goodbye hugs before classes. And in the classes they did share, they had to refrain from staring at one another too much or for too long, lest anyone become suspicious. Their friends often unknowingly joked that the two of them should just start going out already, but truth be told, neither of them were ready to come out to their friends, and they were _definitely_ not ready to come out to the whole school. And so they shared their kisses between their houses, and in tiny bathroom stalls when Jean could coerce Marco into skipping class (And speaking of which, Marco had refused to skip class with Jean in the bathrooms ever since their last escapade two weeks prior—they’d been desperate and greedy and hormonal, much like they were now, and they’d quickly taken to frotting roughly against one another, in too much of a hurry to think about discarding each other’s pants. The two of them had both been wearing their windbreaker pants that day, however, but their thoughts were coming from their cocks instead of their brains, and so neither registered the deafening noise of windbreaker-clothed-dick on windbreaker-clothed-dick until vice principal Levi had kicked their stall door in when they’d been only seconds from coming. Marco winced at the memory, momentarily entertaining the thought of ripping his own face off in mortification.).

And so there they were, kissing hungrily, nipping playfully at each other’s lips as their gasps became ragged and their breathing began to hitch. Marco found that Jean’s flavor had become something of an addiction to him, and he’d fantasize during classes of kisses unshared and tongues previously tasted. He craved Jean’s saliva on his lips like the thirsty craved water.

Jean was finally able to coax Marco’s mouth open, his tongue slipping in and swiping languidly along the inside of his mouth, and Marco let out a soft keen, his own tongue licking at Jean’s. The sound sent hot waves and fiery sparks to Jean’s groin, and this time he thrust his tongue deeper, drinking in the resulting sigh as Marco shuddered against him. Marco’s hips twitched involuntarily, causing Jean to grin in triumph, and Marco blushed a furious and deep red with the realization that Jean was smiling because of his reactions.

“Don mk-ffun of me,” he mumbled into the kiss, his fingers knotting in Jean’s hair and tugging lightly, and Jean hissed at the sensation as waves of heat rolled down his body and pooled at his groin, his pants impossibly tight. It was Marco’s turn to smile then, and Jean was annoyed because _what a low blow, you know that’s a weakness of mine, you little--_

Jean pulled Marco’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it lightly before letting it slip out until only his teeth were caught on it, and he pulled at the soft and pliant flesh as Marco groaned, low and needy.

With complete deliberation and purpose, Marco pulled his hand out of Jean’s hair and gripped his hips in both hands before rolling his hips into him. Jean threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to let Marco see the way the friction against his dick made his eyes roll up into his head, his breath coming in short, hurried pants. But the way he was involuntarily grinding up against Marco gave him away, and Marco rolled his hips so that Jean was pressed hard against the wall.

Jean could feel his toes curling inside his shoes, his heart beating fast and cock pulsing hot while his mouth hung open, and Marco began mouthing along his exposed throat, hips still bucking into Jean’s. Marco’s fingers curled against Jean’s hips, grinding roughly and greedily still, and Marco whined against Jean’s collarbone as the friction just wasn’t enough, not when four layers of clothes kept their hardened lengths separated, twitching in their pants and soaking the fronts of their underwear with precome. And so Marco’s hands darted to Jean’s button and zipper, trying to pull him free, when he caught sight of the time on his wrist and--

“ _No,_ Jean, we’ve gotta go, we’re gonna get in trouble!” Marco scrambled away, releasing Jean’s pants and stepping back, and Jean let out a loud, unsatisfied whine. His dick throbbed painfully, still bound by his jeans, and he was so hard it _hurt_ and--

“Marco,” he squeaked, pleading through his panting, “ _Please.”_

Marco almost broke—Jean was standing there, leaning against the wall behind him, face flushed and sweaty and an obvious bulge in his pants and _begging_ him to make him come…

Marco’s own cock twitched, and he had to resist the urge to palm himself at the sight.

“Jean,” Marco sighed, “I have to be home in less than a minute or I’m grounded, you know that, and if I’m grounded, then—“

“Y-yeah, I know,” Jean said, giving in.

“Hurry,” Marco told him, spreading out his arms. “Give me a hug really quick, ok?”

Jean threw his arms around Marco’s neck, keeping his dick at least an inch away from Marco’s, which was quite the challenge in their hardened state. He then leaned up and whispered into the other’s ear, “Do you still have the other walkie talkie? From a few years back?”

Marco nodded; of course he did. Whether the batteries still worked in it was another matter entirely…

“Can you turn it on in an hour?”

Marco nodded again, still not sure where he was going with this, but Jean gave no further elaboration other than, “Don’t get yourself off until then, got it?” The two then parted ways into their separate houses, both struggling to hide their boners behind their recently picked-up backpacks.

That evening, Marco couldn’t focus much on dinner, his appetite lacking in light of his desperate need for release. Although he’d softened up since his and Jean’s little make out session on the side of the house, his thoughts kept returning to the sounds his boyfriend had made and the expressions he wore. He only managed to eat half of his plate before asking to be excused, and his mother, forehead lined with worry, pressed a cool hand to his heated and flushed face before instructing him to go straight to bed. “You might be getting a fever,” she said, picking his plate up off the table and taking it to the sink. “Go get some sleep, maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”

He quickly retreated to his room per his mother’s instructions, but there was no way he was going to sleep. Not yet. Instead, he dug around under his bed and pulled out his Fisher Price walkie talkie, turning it on and testing the batteries. And luckily enough, they still had some juice in them!

Marco checked his watch in the dim lamplight. It was still only 7:30. He had a good half hour before Jean would turn his own walkie talkie on.

Shucking off his shoes and crawling onto his bed, he decided he’d pass the time with a little music, and so he fished his Walkman out from under his pillow and popped in the mixtape Jean had made for him, first making sure that it was properly rewound. He sat back against his pillows, slipping the headphones on as the first few chords of _As Long as You Love Me_ by the Backstreet Boys began to play.

Truth be told, it was that very same mixtape, along with a love letter written in terrible handwriting, that had been Jean’s confession at the start of autumn. Jean had been red-faced and stutter-y when he’d shoved the letter and tape into Marco’s hands, his arms shaking when he turned and ran into his own house, too afraid to look Marco in the eye.

Marco smiled at the memory, remembering how excited he was to read the letter and listen to the tape, his heart hammering in his chest even as he told himself to not get his hopes up because he’d only be setting himself up for disappointment.

Jean and Marco had grown up as next-door-neighbors and had known each other since before Marco could remember, playing around in the front yard with each other while their mothers talked on the front porch and kept an eye on them. They’d placed band aids on each other’s knees and fought over the same toys in their backyards, and on the days that their moms took them to the neighborhood playground, Marco was always Jean’s sidekick against Eren and Armin when they’d play “Capture the Princess”, even though Mikasa could easily out-run and out-wrestle them all. They’d flown kites together and shared ice cream in the summer when they’d both pitch in their allowance and could only afford one ice cream from the ice cream truck. They’d bashed each other up with Sock ‘em Boppers, and had driven around the neighborhood together in their little yellow and red Little Tikes cars. Jean’s mother even had a picture of Jean kissing Marco’s cheek when Jean was five and Marco was six, and Marco’s mother had a homemade video of Marco and Jean swimming together in their little metal pool a few years later. So Marco couldn’t exactly say when it was he started falling for Jean. Maybe he’d always liked him.

But he definitely became aware of it in junior high, when they began to drift apart. Marco remembered those years as having a heavy heart, dull aches in his chest when he’d look across the lunchroom and see Jean with his new sixth-grader friends, his limbs heavy when Jean flat out ignored his invitations to come play with him. Maybe Jean had grown bored of him, he’d thought.

Marco cried more during junior high than he cared to admit.

But then high school came around, and they were old enough that their parents didn’t mind if they walked the five blocks to school, and so Marco’s sophomore year, Jean and Marco would end up walking side by side. They began to talk again. And by the middle of the school year, Jean was actively asking Marco to hang out with him, almost like old times.

The next summer found Jean teaching Marco how to skateboard.

Marco leaned over to his bedside drawer and pulled out a thin, folded piece of paper, opening it and holding it under the light of his lamp. He began reading just as _Iris_ by the Goo Goo Dolls began to play (Marco was pretty sure Jean had added it simply because he’d said that it was his favorite song at the time and it still was).

_Dear Marco,_

_No matter what I write in this stupid letter, you’re not allowed to laugh at me, got it? Or that mixtape! I’m serious about all this. So don’t laugh._  
 _I know that you probably think of me as just a friend. We grew up together. And we’re both guys. So this is really hard for me to tell you. But you like gross sappy stuff like this, I think, so it should be fine._  
 _Marco, I’ve liked you all summer long. And not ‘like’ as in friends. I like you as in, I want to kiss you. And it’s really hard for me not to. When you asked me to help you learn how to skateboard, I was almost too scared to say yes. Every time I held both your hands to help you balance, I thought I was going to throw up I was so nervous. And that one time you got scraped up real bad, I felt so bad, but I also liked patching you back up. I almost kissed your split lip. That would have been awkward._  
 _I want to play with your soft hair. And I want you to hug me more. And your eyes are really pretty, especially when the light hits them._  
 _I’m so scared of what you’re going to think when you read this. You’re probably really grossed out. Please don’t stop being my friend. I really really really like you._  
 _You’re dumb._

_Jean._

Marco rubbed at his eyes as his vision began to waver, remembering how happy he’d been when he’d first read it. He’d wanted to jump up and scream for joy. He’d wanted to run right over to Jean’s house, bust down his bedroom door, and shower him in thousands of kisses. He’d spent all night listening to that mixtape and reading that letter over and over again until it was time for school, ran out to walk with Jean and swept him up into a massive, spinning hug before he’d lost balance and they collapsed on the front lawn in a giant, quivering heap. And he’d kissed him.

Marco wiped at his eyes quickly, embarrassed that he was becoming tearful at the happy memory, when the next song came on. _Careless Whisper._

Marco slapped his palm against his face when, as if on cue, he heard Jean’s voice cut through his headphones. Quickly pausing the mixtape, Marco threw his Walkman back under his pillow, discarding his headphones, and pulled the walkie talkie towards him.

“Jean?” he said, making sure to press down the red button on the side.

“Ah, thank god,” came Jean’s voice, laced with static. “I was worried you’d forgotten or something. Over.”

“N-no, that wouldn’t be very likely,” Marco said.

Jean cleared his throat into the walkie talkie.

“What?”

“You keep forgetting to say ‘over’! Over.”

“O-oh. Is that even necessary? Over.”

“Of course it is. Over.”

“Okay then. Fine. What did you want us to do with these walkie talkies, anyway?”

Jean didn’t reply.

Marco sighed. “Over.”

“ _Well_ , I. Uh. SO. You remember what I told you? About like, waiting to get off ‘til now? Over.”

Marco squinted at the device in his hand. “Are you telling me… You wanna have phone sex.”

“WELL, okay, yeah, maybe a little bit!”

“Why over walkie talkies!? We have a phone, you know.”

Jean hissed into the walkie talkie, “Yeah, we have wire phones in public areas of the house. Y-you can’t have… phone sex there.”

“Okay, yeah, true, but… You really actually want to have phone sex?”

“You’re the one who worked me up and left me with a massive boner to deal with! And also, technically this is walkie-talkie sex, so…”

“ _Walkie talkie sex,_ ” Marco repeated. “Jean, are you even capable of talking dirty?”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“You know… you just get embarrassed so easily…”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t talk dirty,” Jean growled.

Marco smiled, leaning back against his pillows again and unzipping his pants. And he may or may not have made sure to hold down the red button while doing so. “Okay then, Jean. Let’s have walkie talkie sex. Say something dirty.”

“L-like what!?” he yelped, voice cracking, before hastily adding an, “Over.”

“Oh, we’re saying ‘over’ again?”

_“Marco! Over!”_

“Hahahaha, okay, fine. Start by telling me what you’d like to do to me. _Over.”_

Jean paused, his entire face heating up. Maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Phone sex—er, _walkie talkie_ sex, he guessed, was something he’d wanted to do with Marco for a while. Mostly because Marco had a, well, _way with words._ But Jean had never been good with words. They always came out wrong, and when it came to talking dirty, he knew he sounded like an idiot. But he was still determined to do this, especially after the sound of Marco unzipping something (he hoped his guess was right) had his heart slamming against his ribcage.

“D-do I have to go first?” he whimpered. “Over.”

Marco laughed into the receiver. “Here, okay, instead, I’ll start by saying things I liked about making out with you earlier, okay?”

Jean bit his lip nervously. Marco seemed sincere enough… “Y-yeah… o-okay.”

Marco hummed thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against his thigh, before pressing down the button. “I like the way you always try to keep quiet, but the second I give your dick any bit of attention, you completely fall apart.”

A whoosh of air left Jean’s lungs at that, his eyes going wide. This was actually happening, wasn’t it? Quick, he needed to think of a reply-

But Marco was already talking again.

“Is that how it’s gonna be when we actually have sex, Jean? As soon as I touch your dick, you’re just gonna let me have my way with you?”

Jean let out a low groan from the back of his throat, shoving his hand down his pants and squeezing lightly at his half-hard cock. “If I’m being completely honest, Marco,” he rasped, “I like it when you take control. I… I liked it that time you held my wrists over my head and wouldn’t let me touch you while you jerked me off. I…” Jean hissed at the memory, wiggling out of his jeans a little more and grinding his palm against his crotch.

Marco, on the other hand, was staring wide-eyed at his walkie talkie in shock. _Th-that hadn’t taken much coaxing out of him,_ he thought, bringing the device to his lips again.

“Oh,” he said, voice low. “Is that why you like it so much when I pull on your hair when we make out?”

Jean groaned. “Y-yeah…”

Marco’s face grew heated as he tugged his pants down, dick already almost completely hard, especially since he’d been denied release earlier. “Jean,” he said. “I know we’ve never gone too far. B-but, I think I’m gonna tell you what I’m gonna do when I fuck you.”

Jean ground his palm down harder, his hips bucking up. Marco hadn’t said ‘ _if_ ’, he’d said ‘ _when_ ’. He was going to… h-he was _going_ to _fuck_ him. Jean’s toes curled at the sound of that word on Marco’s lips; he’d never heard him cuss before, and for some reason, the room seemed ten degrees hotter than before he’d said it.

“Wh-what’re you gonna do?” Jean gasped.

“I’m going to have my way with you, Jean. I’m going to have you spread out on my bed, just for me, and I’m going to tie your wrists together.”

Jean shoved his underwear down, pulling his dick out and thumbing the head, biting back a breathy keen. He was already leaking. Marco kept going.

“I hope you know I’m going to tease you,” he murmured. “I’m gonna yank your head back by the hair and kiss your neck. Probably give you a few hickies, too. ‘Cause I know you’re so sensitive there. You always pant hardest when I’m suckin’ on your neck.” Marco lightly traced his fingers along his swollen cock, closing his eyes at the feeling. “’M gonna take off your shirt and leave hickies all the way down. On your collarbones. Your chest. Your sides. And I’m gonna start taking your pants off. And you know what I’m gonna do next?”

Jean began stroking himself, his hips twitching against his volition. “Y-you’re,” he panted, “You’re gonna s-suck my dick?”

“Nope,” Marco groaned, throwing his head back against the pillows. “I’m just going to lick up the insides of your thighs. Watch your cock twitch every time my tongue gets close. Until you’re shaking and panting and you start making those cute whining noises again. Then I’m gonna have you beg, Jean.” Marco licked his lips at the fantasy, closing his eyes to envision Jean’s sweaty, exposed body, cock hard and leaking and desperate for attention.

Jean moaned into the walkie talkie, drool slipping out of the corner of his mouth while his hand picked up the pace, rolling his hips up off his bed so that he was fucking his hand. “Beg for what?” he rasped.

“You tell me, Jean,” Marco gasped, his own dick jumping at Jean’s drawn-out moan.

“I-I want you to fuck yourself on me,” he said, jerking himself hard and fast, his dick slick with precome. “P-please,” he added, voice cracking. “ _Please_ fuck yourself on me.”

Marco’s eyes rolled back in pleasure as Jean’s words went straight to his dick, pumping himself to the memory of his face earlier, when he’d pleaded with Marco to get him off. How desperate and needy he looked.

“J-jean,” Marco gasped. “Do you know how often I’ve gotten off to the thought of riding you?”

Jean’s entire body was hot, he was sweaty and on fire and his thighs were trembling and jerking while his toes curled and uncurled again and again, and he cried out at Marco’s words. _He wants to ride me, oh god oh god-_

“I-I’d be fingering myself to that thought right now, if it weren’t for this damn walkie talkie,” Marco groaned, his sweaty fingers shaking and struggling to hold the button down now.

Jean dropped the walkie talkie to the bed then, one hand reaching down to grasp his balls, the other stroking himself as fast as he could go, his hips jerking forward in ecstasy. He was so close, _so close,_ the image of Marco shoving his fingers up his ass and moaning Jean’s name playing behind his eyelids.

“You better not be about to come,” Marco said. “If you are, stop.”

Jean’s hand came to a stuttering halt, thighs still shaking, and he moaned high and loud at the painful throbbing in his dick. So close to coming, _so close_ … He picked up the walkie talkie.

“Damnit, Marco,” he whined.

Marco smiled, licking his lips as his hips rolled forward against his hand.

“Hey, Jean?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I need you to touch yourself for me. Right under the head of your dick. B-because if I was there right now, that’s what I’d be doing.”

Jean obeyed, placing his fingers right where Marco told him too, and when it was Marco telling him to do it, it was so _so_ much better, and he let out a warbling cry, his finger on the button so Marco could hear.

“I wish I could see your face right now,” Marco panted into the walkie talkie. “You make the best faces. Like when you come. And you shake all over, and your mouth is wide open while you drool.”

“ _Ah-ng_ , fuck, Marco, I need to come,” Jean choked out, “Tell me I can come now, _please._ ”

Marco’s dick twitched in his hand, dripping onto his sheets. “But I haven’t even told you how ‘m gonna fuck myself on you.”

Jean let out another groan, throaty and low and frustrated because he just wanted to come, but Marco wouldn’t let him and was driving him absolutely _crazy_ , and his dick was _excruciatingly_ hard, why couldn’t he just _come already._

“I’m gonna lower myself onto you real slow,” Marco said softly, and Jean swore he could hear the lewd noises Marco was making behind the static. “’N you’re gonna fill me up _so good_ , Jean, god, and you’re gonna get to feel me, all around your dick, and it’ll probably be hot, and a tight fit…”

Jean began to slide his palm along his length again, stopping to press his thumb to the slit, and his eyes rolled back again.

“But I’m gonna ride you real slow at first.”

“ _Dammit,_ Marco!” Jean cried out, gripping the base of his cock to keep himself from coming.

Marco paused to press his fingers against the pulsing vein of his dick, almost choking at the feeling combined with Jean’s desperate cursing and moans. How he wanted to be there, hearing him and seeing him and _touching him--_

“You’ll be making the best noises, Jean,” he breathed. “You’ll be yelling my name and begging me to go faster. Your hands will still be tied. And if you try to lift your hips to speed things up, _I’ll stop_.”

Marco collected some of the precome dripping from the head of his cock in his palm and slicked it along his throbbing length, the slick substance letting his hand moved faster.

“Start jerking yourself off again, Jean,” Marco told him. “Because right in the middle of you begging me for more, I’m gonna ride you hard. Until you scream.”

Jean was quick to comply, pumping himself as fast as he could make his hand go, his head spinning and chest heaving and sweat beading along his skin. His toes curled so that they gripped his sheets, and Jean dropped the walkie talkie again so that he could bite into his hand and keep himself from crying out too loudly.

“I’m gonna make you feel _so_ good, Jean. You’ll be writhing under me, and your dick is gonna hit me _just_ right until I c-come,” Marco’s voice wavered, his own release in sight. “U-until I come on your chest. And then, I’ll let you come. Inside me.”

Moans were dripping from Jean’s lips as he bucked up into his hand, and he was going to come, finally, the heat in his gut pooling and his dick pulsing with heat and need and-

“J-jean!” he heard Marco gasp. “Jean, let me hear you come. S-say my name!”

Jean snatched up the walkie talkie again, slamming the button down as his orgasm rolled over him in waves, and he couldn’t keep the yelps and moans quiet, not even caring that he was drooling all over the place. “M- _Marco_ \- _ahng!_ Marco!” he sobbed his name over and over again, his cum spurting onto his sheets and up his chest, and his vision went white, stars exploding behind his eyes while his release coated his hand, hot and thick.

Even when he came down from his high, nestled softly in the afterglow, Jean’s hips and thighs continued to twitch from the intensity of the orgasm he’d just had; had there ever been a time where he’d come harder? It was difficult to tell—his mind was still fuzzy, unable to think straight.

On the other end of the walkie talkie, Marco was still going, still pumping himself for all he was worth. “J-jean, I’m gonna come— _ha- ahh_!” he gasped, eyes shut tight while he lost himself in his fantasies. Of Jean. Of Jean coming, shouting his name, moaning, the face he’d make, the feeling of Jean coming _inside him--_

Jean lazily brought the walkie talkie to his lips. “You’d better say my name when you come,” he croaked. “I’d better be the only one you’re thinking about while you’re busy fucking your hand raw over there.”

Marco let out a needy whine, finally dropping the walkie talkie and letting Jean take him to the brink. He continued to stroke himself with one hand, bringing the palm of his other hand to press against the head of his dick, moans pouring heedlessly from his mouth now.

“Marco,” Jean said, and Marco was so close, just a little more, and the things that Jean’s raspy, fucked-out voice were doing to him were unbelievable, and, “you make me feel _so fucking good.”_

Marco threw his head back as he came hard, arching his back while he came all over himself. His orgasm ripping through him, he convulsed in pleasure, shouting Jean’s name until his throat felt raw and he collapsed back onto his bed, eyes hazy and mind clouded. Marco picked up the walkie talkie again.

“S-sorry,” he muttered, “I didn’t let you hear me come…”

“Uh. No. I heard it.”

“What? You did?”

“Yeah… all the way over here.”

Marco’s eyes widened in shock, glancing out his window at Jean’s house. He threw an arm up over his eyes, his face hot. “Oh my god, kill me now, what if my parents heard!?”

Jean just laughed. “I dunno, you’re probably fine. If they don’t ask you about it, don’t tell.”

Marco nodded, before remembering that Jean couldn’t see him. “Okay,” he said.

They were silent for a few minutes, just basking lazily in the afterglow and relief of _finally_ getting off, until Jean broke the silence. “Thanks, Marco.”

“You’re thanking me for phone sex?”

“Walkie talkie sex,” he corrected. “And yeah. I guess. You, uh… you’re really good at it.”

Marco blushed a bright crimson. “O-oh. Th-thanks, I guess. I’m not gonna lie, I uh. I came pretty hard.”

Jean was blushing too, then, surprised at how easily his seemingly-innocent boyfriend could say such things. If only…

“I wish I coulda seen you,” Jean said quietly.

Marco simply hummed in agreement.

“Did you mean all that stuff you said? A-about us actually… you know…”

“Fucking?” Marco finished, grinning.

“Uh-huh…”

“I was,” he said. “And I’ll prove it to you, too… this weekend. If you’d like.”

Jean gasped, his mind reeling at the implications of everything that Marco had just said. Would they actually be able to go all the way!? “What do you mean!?” Jean said, sitting up abruptly.

Marco’s grin widened, almost devilishly so. “My parents are going out of town for the weekend. And they trust me with the house. And I was _thinking_ … It’s been a while since we’ve had a sleepover. You up for it?”

“Of course I’m up for it!” Jean shouted, his heart hammering. This was almost too good to be true…

“Okay,” Marco laughed, “Good. This weekend then. But for now…” he stopped to yawn, “I need some sleep.”

“Yeah!” Jean said, before realizing how enthusiastic he still sounded. “I-I mean… yeah. Me too.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Jean.”

“’Night, Marco.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too… over.”

The two then proceeded to turn off their walkie talkies, and deal with the messes that they were still sitting in. And they both couldn’t wait for Friday to roll around.

Jean started counting down the hours.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written phone sex.  
> Or walkie talkie sex either, now that I think about it...  
> Ayyy, though, I finished something! This means I'm getting back into my writing groove, aw ye. Expect another oneshot from me soon.  
> (And to those of you wondering on here, yES I'm still working on the Like a Drum series, I've just been experiencing writer's block and school stuff.)
> 
>  **EDIT:** [CHECK OUT THIS CUTE FICLET BASED OFF THIS ONE OF MY FOLLOWERS WROTE, IT IS A CUTE](http://ownly-lownly.tumblr.com/post/80409129150/after-the-90s-au-ficlet-by-melissareblogsstuff)


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